


Ghost of a Kiss; Breath of a Smile

by Drakkonis



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: AU, M/M, Shudderue, enjoy it gets pretty fucking sad lmao, pining and uh. gay i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakkonis/pseuds/Drakkonis
Summary: As a Minecraft player, I fully believe that canon is nothing more than a sandbox filled with too much TNT for me to blow things to smithereens. That being said, this is very much an AU and shouldn't have any spoilers.---For years, now, Anton Shudder has known that his gist is winning.Once a friend, now an enemy trapped in his head, every day is a struggle to win this battle; an impossible one, to say the least.A sliver of hope that he once thought would never come appears in the form of Saracen Rue, offering to give him what he needs - the magic and stability required to fix everything. He offers the sacrifice of a lifetime - if this fails, neither of them will survive.Anton accepts.
Relationships: Saracen Rue/Anton Shudder
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Ghost of a Kiss; Breath of a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> i think?? i like the way that this ended but you're going to get there when you get there lmao  
> either way this might have more chapters in which things Happen(TM) but that's all

It hurt to breathe.

For years, now, Anton Shudder had been afraid of his gist, of the monster that lurked within him. Decades and centuries had gone by when all he’d been able to feel of this  _ thing _ that resided there was hate, anger, pain. Feelings that fueled it, made it stronger.

The day he’d had his Surge had, perhaps, been the worst. Days went by - perhaps one, two, perhaps a week - of agonising, obliterating pain, leaving him with scars across his chest and a monster inside of him.

He’d never wanted it to be like this.

Anton took another breath, and pain rattled through his body. Dimply, he took notice of the light around him but didn’t dare open his eyes. Not yet.

At first, he’d wanted to train it. Make it like him, make it a friend that he could work with. It had been a companion to him in those lonely, dark days where he couldn’t find anyone to even speak to him, anyone to show him some bare smidgen of affection or love or  _ anything _ that he so desperately yearned for.

It was the war that broke it - maybe, however, it broke  _ him _ .

Resentment brewed within the gist, as it was forced to take the burden of what Anton had seen and done. Now, instead of seeing it as a companion, he saw it as little more than just something to push his bad feelings aside - that’s what he referred to it as, and that’s how it was. He had new companions, now, new friends. He didn’t need the monster inside of him.

Another painful, awful breath and he could feel it burning inside of him, thrashing to get out. Could feel it screeching, even if the sound was contained to Anton’s head.

He opened his eyes.

The room was empty, bare - a hospital room, he reflected, ignoring the pain as he pushed himself upright. Tried to stand.

_ Good _ , it said.  _ Good. You’re weak. _

He didn’t remember when it had started to talk to him, but the tiny bit of effort that was put into a growled, “Shut up,” took away what focus went into keeping him upright, and he collapsed.

The door opened. All he could hear was screaming.

“Anton.  _ Anton _ . Jesus, Anton, get back into bed-”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, recognising Dexter’s voice dimly as he was pushed back onto the thin mattress. “I don’t need to be babied, Vex.”

“You nearly died. I’m not babying you. Lie  _ down _ , for the love of God.” There was something in his voice that made Anton slump beneath his hands, allowed himself to be shoved gently back down.

“What happened?” he asked, and frowned at the hissing in his head. 

_ I’m winning, _ it said.  _ I’m winning, and you’re not going to survive. _

He ignored it. Focused on Dexter’s words, surprisingly gentle. “Do you really not remember?”

“Something about the gist,” Anton guessed.

Dexter’s answering smile was thin. “It almost killed you. You… nearly didn’t get it back in time.” When Anton didn’t respond, he asked quietly, “When did this start happening?”

“Nothing started happening,” he brushed aside, “I just wasn’t being careful.”

_ Ooooh, _ it mocked.  _ What a little liar. _

“Shut up,” he muttered, and Dexter frowned at him. Hell. He hadn’t meant to say that allowed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You told me to-”

“I didn’t.”

Dexter’s pale eyes made him uncomfortable, but he met them steadily, despite the pounding headache and relentless whispering. “You’re talking to it. The gist.”

Anton didn’t reply.

“It’s taking over.” It wasn’t a question. “Anton, Jesus, how long have you known-”

“Long enough. It was going to happen eventually.” His voice stayed calm. “I’m not concerned.”

“I- You’re not  _ concerned _ ? Anton, if that thing takes over-”

“It’ll kill me, and everyone around it. I know.”

“ _ And you don’t care? _ ” Rage had seeped into Dexter’s voice, now, every part of his body standing on edge. “Oh, good God, just how stupid  _ are _ you?”

“I’m not. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me stupid. I-” For the first time, Anton hesitated. “I didn’t expect it to get so much worse this quickly.”

“So what were you planning on doing about it?”

“I was still working on that one.”

“You didn’t even have a plan?” Dexter stood, walked away from the bed. Anton didn’t try to follow.

“I do. But as a backup.”

Dexter didn’t ask what it was - he already knew.

_ Suicide, _ whispered the gist.  _ You’d kill yourself, just to get rid of me? _

This time, he managed to ignore it. Spoke to Dexter. “There’s only so much I can do, Dexter. And this isn’t a surprise for anyone.” At his half-turn, Anton held up a hand. “Don’t try to pretend it is. You’re just insulting yourself.”

For a moment, those steely eyes regarded him, and Dexter’s shoulders slumped as he turned away. “China Sorrows wants to see you when you’re back on your feet.”

“Why?” Anton couldn’t be sure if it was unease he felt, or just the gist, banging away relentlessly. The sharp pain made him wince a little.

Dexter, with his back turned, couldn’t see; something which Anton was suddenly glad of. “She thinks she has a solution.”

“You don’t sound particularly happy about it.”

“No,” he agreed. “Because I’m not.”

Another long silence passed between the two men before Anton once more made an attempt to get out of the narrow bed. The room spun, but he gritted his teeth, ignored the echoing laughter of the gist.

“Anton-” Dexter had moved back over, was gripping his forearms. This time, he didn’t fall when shaking him off.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re chalk-white and look ready to drop dead.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m well on my way, aren’t I?” At Dexter’s sigh, he added, “You said China wanted to see me when I was back on my feet. I’m on my feet.”

“You’re about to fall over and crack your skull open.”

“Good.” He met his eyes. “Where is she?”

~~~

“So,” Anton said slowly, “you’re saying a sigil can fix this issue.” 

“A collection of sigils and symbols,” corrected China, studying him. “And, yes. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically fails to fill me with much hope.”

“Well, Shudder, I’d suggest you hold onto what little hope you can gather from it.” A delicate brow arched. “Because it’s all you’re going to get.”

“And then what?” he asked, ignoring the jibe. “I ask someone to risk their life for me?”

That part was where China hesitated, a cloud passing over her eyes. Anton said nothing, waited.

“This is hugely experimental, but admittedly a little project I’d been working on in my free time. A hobby, if you will.” Like Dexter, she seemed to be struggling to look at him, and it made something in Anton’s chest twist. 

_ Maybe she sees the monster, _ the gist whispered.  _ The monster that you’re becoming. _

“It,” continued China, after taking a long breath, “is risky. Risky enough that I’d put you as having an incredibly low chance of survival.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And if a person chooses to help you with it, then it would likely kill them, too.”

“Okay.” The single word left his lips easily - surprisingly so. Already, his heart was sinking, what little hope he’d had slipping away. 

_ Isn’t it just such a shame that you’ve always been so alone? _

Now, Anton was fairly sure that China was talking to distract herself - perhaps distract him. She was rarely one to ramble, but this didn’t seem like her showing off.

Whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

“The sigil works by combining the magic of yourself and the person who bonds with you,” she said. “It stabilises your gist, passes part of the burden of it over to the other person. The downside of it working is that, most likely, it would never be as strong as it is now, ever again.”

“That’s not a downside,” he said quietly. 

China regarded him, but didn’t respond to that. “If you find someone who is both willing and able to do this,” she said, “let me know and I will apply the sigil to you both.”

He gave a curt nod, unable to stop the twinge of sarcasm from sliding in. “I’ll be sure to make you aware.”

After turning to leave, China spoke. “Shudder.”

He said nothing but glanced over his shoulder.

“Saracen Rue has said he is coming over to Ireland, soon. You may want to speak with him.”

_ Maybe he’s asking for the will, _ the gist whispered.  _ Taking advantage of you one last time _ .

His chest tightened, another painful breath filling his lungs. “Alright.”

China didn’t stop him as he finally left, and started to walk. Where to, he didn’t know, and it was the wind biting his face and the goosebumps on his arms and the feelings of the world around him that helped block out the gist, helped him ignore the screeching and the screaming and the laughter through the dark, echoing cavern that his head had become.

It had never meant to be like this.

He’d wanted to be a  _ Sensitive _ . Take after his mother, help people and bring away their horrible memories. He’d wanted to help people and he’d wanted to show the world that he cared. He hadn’t wanted to be like this.

But he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was the screaming in his father’s head that broke him. Perhaps it was his mother’s ghost, seeping into every corner of his childhood home, that called to him. Perhaps it was the way he ran when he was fourteen, the emptiness, the blackness of the streets that drew him in, spat him out as something else.

Something other. Something broken and twisted and wrong and  _ never going to be the same, never going to be able to help _ .

His magic fluctuated. Bounced around, mocked him - slipped from his grasp whenever he needed it most. Once able to slip inside the heads of others, he found himself unable to control even his own thoughts.

And so, his thoughts had started to control him.

It had been like a hallucination, at first. A,  _ Hello _ , a whisper in his skull. Something soothing and soft.  _ It’s okay _ , he said.  _ I can help you _ . 

And so he unloaded on this thing, this ghost. At first, he’d thought it was his mother, come back from the grave. No longer could she tuck him into bed and sing him to sleep, her voice the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, but now hushed, soothing tones confined to his head chased away the cold and the dark and the unfriendly eyes of those around him.

It had never been his mother, and soon he grew to acknowledge that. In a way, it made things easier. In a way, seeing it as a friend made him happy.

Years went by, years in which the gist grew stronger. They’d confide in one another, Anton’s secrets being what fed it. It’d soothe him, protect him. Help him. It was him, it was every part of him that he couldn’t be. Strong, brave, powerful.

Under normal circumstances, he’d never be that. Never be what he so desperately  _ wanted _ to be - but the war hit, and the war wasn’t “normal circumstances.” It changed him, made him turn his back on what had once been his friend. Made him leave what was trapped in his head.

Back then, he had been sure that the war had been what made the gist into a monster. But, perhaps, it was he who was the monster.

Jerking out of his dazed stupor, Anton looked up through half-lidded eyes. How long had he sat there? Where was he?

The gist was standing in front of him.

It wasn’t something he registered, to begin with, but the pain in his chest was more acute than ever, and he gasped as he stood, tried to pull it in. For a moment, it stood there, watching him and his fruitless efforts, before walking forwards. He’d never seen it look more solid, more  _ demonic _ .

_ Soon, _ it whispered.  _ Soon _ , it promised him.  _ But not yet _ .

Finally, it returned, and finally, Anton had that piece of him back; and that was all that he registered before the world around him went black.

Wind whistled through the trees.

~~~

Once again, Anton woke in a hospital bed, but this time, he wasn’t alone. It seemed that China hadn’t been joking about Saracen being in Ireland.

He looked exhausted. It was the first thing Anton noticed, from the dark circles ringing his eyes to the slumped posture in the chair, his chin resting on his chest.

Watching him made Anton’s heart twist, and as if he, too, had felt it, Saracen lifted his head. The pair locked eyes.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed. “Anton- My God. How long have you been awake?”

The relief in his voice made Anton smile, even if he felt his lips cracking. Nevermind how long he’d been awake - how long had he been  _ asleep _ ?

He asked as much, and Saracen gave his own smile, his weary. “Four days.”

“Four-” The thought of it was nearly enough to make Anton bolt upright, but he jerked, pain splintering his entire body. The screaming was there again, and it was overwhelming and he couldn’t see and  _ this was just it building up and it was getting difficult for him not to scream, he didn’t know what was goi n g o n- _

“Anton!” Saracen was holding his shoulders, looking terrified. “Anton, breathe. Oh my God. Are you okay?”

He shut his eyes, noticing how his heart was pounding as the pain faded, as the screaming once more faded into the background. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m- I’m alright.”

For a fleeting moment, he hoped that Saracen hadn’t caught the catch in his voice, but suddenly, he felt warm arms around him

It took him a long moment to realise that, unwittingly, he was returning the hug.

Saracen was warm. So, so warm, so unlike the frozen, burning ice that coated Anton’s insides, fueled by the rage of the gist.

“I’m alright,” he repeated, but didn’t ask him to get off. The comfort was nice, in a way.

And then it was over, and Saracen was regarding him warily. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “The gist just… I don’t know, Saracen. I don’t know what’s going on” He hated how desperate he sounded.

“China told me what was happening. That there’s a way to fix it.”

Anton shrugged weakly. “Hypothetically. I can’t think of anybody who would want to.” The evenness of his voice surprised even him, but it was met with a sudden, mirthless laugh from Saracen.

“What? Anton, are you stupid?” 

He blinked at him. “Yourself and Dexter really do seem to like calling me that, you know.”

“Myself and Dexter are  _ right _ . Why do you think I’m here?”

“What?” he blurted.

“Anton, I’m not going to just let you die.”

“So you’ll die with me?” he asked, but that tiny, tiny spark of hope had begun to burn again. Saracen only nodded.

“Seems so.”

Anton pushed himself upright, ignored the thudding in his chest, the explosion of pain that accompanied it. “You would… do that?” His voice sounded odd, even to him.

“Well,” he said, “considering I’m here… yes.”

“But… Dexter…” Anton shook his head slowly. For the longest time, he’d known that Saracen was pining after Dexter; he’d seen the long looks, the wistful glances. Saracen just hadn’t seen the ones from Anton, because Anton kept those to himself.

Saracen didn’t need a monster like him.

It occurred to him, then, that Saracen had spoken, was staring at him. “Pardon?” he said, unable to think of what he’d said.

“But Dexter  _ what _ ?”

“But he- You-” It wasn’t often that he found himself struggling for words like this. “Why would you do something like this for me, when there’s…. Him?”

“You’re expecting Dexter to do this?” 

“No!” He didn’t mean to shout, and instantly, the guilt of seeing Saracen recoil was almost worse than the pain of the gist.

“Then what? You’re not making any sense, here, Anton.”

His stomach flipped, but he forced himself to speak. “You have so much else to live for, Saracen. Dexter. I thought you were in love with Dexter.”

The range of emotions that flashed on Saracen’s face was indecipherable, moving too quickly for Anton to know what he was thinking. “No,” he said, eventually. “No. I’m not. We- We had a thing, once, and you know that. But I’m not, and I don’t know what that has to do with this.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice soft. “Oh. Okay.”

“You’re an idiot,” said Saracen fondly, “you know that?”

This time, Anton brushed it off, didn’t answer. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re doing this.”

“Because I know we haven’t spoken much recently,” Saracen said, after a hesitation. He seemed to be picking his words carefully; Anton held his breath. “But honestly, Anton? I don’t know if, for me, a world without you in it is a world worth living in.”

There was a lump in Anton’s throat, a lump that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he swallowed. “Oh,” he said, his voice soft.

Saracen smiled at him. “So?” he asked, offering a hand. “Are you feeling up to seeing China about those sigils?”

Anton opened his mouth to answer, then glanced down at himself, taking in for the first time since he’d woken the hospital gown, the smell of dried sweat, the grease in his long hair. The IV sticking out of his arm.

“Let me take a shower first,” he decided, and Saracen laughed.

~~~

The tattoo that curved down his chest was a thing of wonder.

Black ink formed the sigils, formed around his collarbones and his scars in great sweeps and dips, intricate and huge and, admittedly, incredible. It still stung a little, but it was a stinging he could ignore, watching Saracen as he had for the last few hours while China bent over his back, drawing something similar onto it. He hadn’t asked why they were in different places. Didn’t want to distract her.

While the tattoo was being applied, the gist had stayed quiet; for the most part. At times, it started to screech, to smash itself against his head and send that white-hot, agonising pain through him, blinding him and robbing him of every thought apart from that horrific, horrific screaming. After it had happened, China seemed to begin working faster.

“It’s finished.” It was the first that any of the three of them had spoken in hours, and Saracen slowly sat up. Even without studying it in detail, it was clear that the two tattoos, while having their similarities, varied greatly.

Anton had never understood the magic languages, and so he didn’t ask about it. So long as this worked.

Once again, China was speaking, explaining how things would work. His first question was answered, at least - the tattoos were the way they were so that they could stay in contact when activated. “When your gist decides that it is going to throw one of its fits again, Shudder,” she said delicately, putting away the supplies, “then, so long as the sigils are in place and in contact with one another, they will activate.”

“And then?” Saracen was the one to ask, and it took a long moment for China to straighten up and face them both.

“And then,” she said, “we will see what happens.”

Anton could only nd, give a quiet, “Thank you.”

China gave a delicate, one-shouldered shrug. “Thank me if you survive,” was al that she said.

~~~

The room looked like a prison cell.

Anton and Saracen sat by one another in silence, the former trying to silence the gist’s whisperings.  _ You’ll kill us both to get what you want? You use me, sacrifice me? I am so much stronger than you. You’re just too afraid to admit it. _

As for Saracen, he hadn’t spoken once since they were brought in here, before he looked up. They’d been sat there for so long that the sound of his voice startled Anton.

“Anton?” he asked, and his eyes flickered over.

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

It took a moment for the words to settle in, for him to form his own around this gist’s mocking laughter. 

_ He’s going to back out. Watch him. He doesn’t really want to do this. _

“Of course.” The words felt clumsy in his mouth.

Saracen looked away, and just when Anton was about to ask if he’s actually meant to say anything at all, he spoke. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“On the first Dead Man mission?” he asked carefully. To his surprise, Saracen shook his head.

“No. Before that.”

“There was a ‘before that?’” Anton frowned, and was met with a small sigh.

“Back before the war. When we met in that alley.” A memory was starting to resurface, but Anton kept quiet. “You were homeless. When I brought you in and kept you hidden for the night. It was my mother that found you.” A sad smile passed over Saracen’s face, and Anton’s heart sped up. “You don’t remember?”

“That was you?” he blurted, blinking. “I-”

The smile widened. “Good to know that I made an impression on you.”

“I never compared the snotty rich boy with no respect for his mother and yourself,” he said, “I’ll be honest.”

Saracen laughed, and not for the first time, Anton felt as if he could listen to the sound all day. “No need to compare us when we’re the same person.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admitted, ignoring the snickered, “Obviously,” he got in return. A moment passed, and he added, “You probably saved my life.”

Saracen looked away from him, but not in time for Anton to miss the embarrassment - guilt? - that flashed over his face. “I suppose what I was going to say doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“No,” Anton said. “No. I remember It had just… slipped my mind. Of sorts.”

He could see Saracen was chewing his lip, something that he’d always done. It was a wonder that they still looked as soft as they were. “I didn’t usually bring in random homeless people,” he said quietly. “Mages, mortals, whoever it was - I only brought them in if I thought they were pretty.”

Anton frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“It was selfish of me,” Saracen continued, “but seeing them smile, seeing them grateful and happy, even if it were just for a night or two, it made me feel good about myself. You know I’ve always had a thing fr making attractive people smile.” His own crooked grin was thrown at Anton, but there was a hint of melancholy in it.

“You didn’t smile once,” he said, and Anton looked away. “And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about how you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”

His voice, his words made even the gist fall silent, and Anton felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest. Anton Shudder didn’t blush, but he could feel his face burning.

“Oh.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day that I first met you,” Saracen admitted quietly. “And being in love with a ghost would kill me, too. And I’m sorry, because I know that you’ll never return my feelings, and-”

“Says who?” he cut in, and Saracen blinked at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Who said that I’d never return your feelings?”

“Anton, I’ve been flirting with you for years, and you’ve not noticed. Not even once.” There was something like hurt in Saracen’s voice, but Anton shook his head.

“You flirt with everyone. I didn’t realise it was… serious.”

Silence, and then, “You’re taking this better than I accepted.”

Anton took a breath, and let it out slowly. Maybe it was his imagination, but the pain had lessened somewhat since Saracen had admitted his feelings. “It’s nice to know that you return my feelings, is all.”

He could feel Saracen’s eyes on him, and shifted a little, but Saracen moved closer.

Their eyes met, and Anton allowed himself to take in the colour; the deep honey-brown that had made his heart beat far too fast on so, so many occasions. 

“If we survive this,” Saracen said, his voice such a soft whisper that Anton could barely hear it, “can I kiss you?”

A spark of optimism that he hadn’t felt in centuries rose in Anton’s chest, and he couldn’t stop a smile. “Not if,” he promised. “When.”

“Then,” said Saracen, his finger gently bushing Anton’s lips, “when we survive this. Can I kiss you?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

The smile on Saracen’s face grew, but pain exploded in Anton’s chest suddenly, building rapidly. He sore, but Saracen was already moving closer, pressing his back to Anton’s bare chest.

He was so warm.

“You’re going to be okay,” Anton could make out, over the screaming and the howling and the crackling of magic. “We’re going to make this, Anton.”

He pressed his face into Saracen’s shoulder, able to see the almost blinding glowing of the sigils even through shut eyelids, and focused on trying not to scream.

The pain built. It was worse than it had been before, and it got worse with every second, Saracen’s nail’s digging into his forearms as the two held one another close. This wasn’t working. Surely, it should have been over by now-

And yet the pain built, and Anton couldn’t stop a scream of pain, the gist’s laughter echoing in his head, echoing around the room.  _ I’m free, I’m free, I’m free, _ it sang, and something seemed to explode.

Around them, the world faded.

~~~

Valkyrie stared at the screen in silence, watching Shudder and Saracen talk. At first, their silence had made her feel uncomfortable, but when their lips started to move, she’d paid more attention.

Not that she could hear what was being said, of course, but their body language was enough in some ways. Hell, it looked like they were going to-

She turned to Skulduggery with a frown. “Are they aware that this isn’t a date?”

There was a sad sort of amusement in his voice, in the way that he tilted his head, still facing the screen. “Anton and Saracen have been in love with one another for centuries. I’ll admit, this may not be the most appropriate time for them to figure it out, but…”

Valkyrie blinked. “You mean they didn’t notice?”

“No,” said Skulduggery, “and from the fact that Saracen just asked if he could kiss Anton, I’d wager that they just did.”

“For a guy with no lips, you’re really good at reading them,” Valkyrie muttered, but added, “So you’ve just been standing by for the past few centuries and let them… stare after one another.”

“Pretty much,” he agreed. “It wasn’t mine to involve myself in, Valkyrie.”

After a moment, she pursed her lips and looked back at the screen, before freezing. “It’s happening.”

“Yes,” said Skulduggery, although his voice sounded slightly strained, “I suppose it is.”

Valkyrie felt as if she were frozen, staring in shock as the pair held one another. She still couldn’t hear what was going on, but the pain they must have been feeling practically radiated, and the light around them grew so bright that she had to look away, her heart beating far, far too fast.

She’d dealt with enough gods in her lifetime, but she found herself praying, silently, to anyone that’d listen, that they’d both make it.  _ Please, please, please- _

The light faded, By the time she looked back, Skulduggery was already rushing into the room. After a hesitation, Valkyrie was right on his heels.

“He’s not breathing. Neither of them are,” Skulduggery informed her, his voice tight. Already, he had his hands on the lifeless Anton’s chest, doing CPR.

Valkyrie could only stare. 

“I need a Sunburst,” he was saying. “ _ I need a Sunburst, now _ .”

His voice seemed so far away. The odds had been impossible, but they always were, and they always made it, and yet Anton and Saracen were-

“Dead,” China said softly. “Skulduggery, there’s nothing that can be done.”

Valkyrie hadn’t noticed her come into the room.

“There must be something. China, I am not going to just let them die.”

“They’re gone. The sigils were all or nothing.” Slowly, she knelt by Anton, brushed some hair out of his face. “There was no coming back if they failed.”

Skulduggery seemed frozen, but before China gently shut Anton’s eyes over for good, Valkyrie noticed they were pitch black. 

Faint laughter seemed to echo in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> have you guys seen that meme where it's like "derek landy coming up with backstories for his characters: best i can do is gay or dead" because i gave you both


End file.
